Cosmetics, the Cosmos, and Crises (Of the Midlife Kind)

A few weeks ago I was stricken with Pimplezilla, and ended up hospitalized for four days (yes, it IS sad that I had to go to the hospital for a pimple).  After 3 weeks of serious antibiotics, I've been declared "clean".  Here's the tragic part of this story:  I have to throw away my makeup.  Pretty much everything but powder eyeshadow. The agonized scream from within every cell in my body surely caused some type of intergalactic disturbance...

My doctor, an Infectious Disease specialist who looks about 12 yrs old, obviously doesn't understand the magnitude of what he ordered me to do. I've been perfecting my cosmetics collection for the past....oh.....35 years (I got my first Bonne Belle LipSmacker when I was 10--Dr. Pepper flavored).  My love and desire for makeup has waxed and waned through the years, but has recently been at a fever pitch, probably due to impending old-ladyhood.

So here we are two weeks later, and I still haven't jettisoned the tainted paint.  I haven't been using it--I'm crazy, not stupid--but I'm holding on to my lipsticks from Australia (they were 75% off--I would never pay $28 for a lipstick), my goodies from Switzerland (I did a makeup swap with a fellow YouTube user), all my pigments (they can't be sterilized like an eyeshadow palette can), my creamy blushes, and all of my beautiful, shiny, sparkly, glossy, luscious lip glosses (we're not going to assign a numerical value here--let's just say "a bunch").  It's funny, but I hadn't actually realized I had such an emotional attachment to all this.  So in true Peggy fashion, I began contemplating my navel to try to figure out what on earth is the matter with me.  It's just makeup, right?

The first place I go when I'm truly distressed is to my sister.  She's 10 years older than me, and lives halfway across the country.  We are not at all alike, but she "gets" me.  Sometimes better than I get myself.  As we were chatting, I mentioned that I couldn't figure out why I was so attached to my makeup, and, in fact, had been hoarding and gathering more and more for the past year or so.  "Oh, gee, I wonder WHY you're doing that!" she said sarcastically.  Huh?  Something so obvious, yet I had no clue.  Then I got it.

I've been going through a weird time in my life.  I'm 45, and feel like my life is over.  I get teary when I think about college kids, and how they have their whole lives ahead of them....they have so many choices to make, so much fun to experience.  I've made my choices, and regret some of them bitterly.  I know my life isn't over, but it's definitely not shiny and new any more.  I'm having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that my life is never going to look the way I always thought it would.  I'm never going to have three children, with a wonderful family life, full of fun times and closeness.  I haven't seemed to be able to make the kind of home and family I want my child to have, and that makes me sad.  

Makeup makes me feel a little better about things.  I feel prettier, and younger when I have it on.  I love the colors, the smells, the textures.  It makes me feel like more of a woman, thus more of a wife and mother.  I know it's not logical.  But it's the way I feel.  And sometimes the only thing you can do to make something look better is slap on a layer of paint and pretend it's pretty.

I'm Okay....

"I'm okay."  "I'm fine."  "Nothing's wrong."  As a mother, I feel like I'm playing a role....I always have to be in control--calm, cheerful, positive and, above all, okay.  I've been going through some major stress recently, and today I'm not okay.

I don't remember my mom ever appearing outwardly the way I'm feeling on the inside.  She was a rock--steady,  reliable, dependable as the sun and the moon.  She's gone now, so I can't talk to her about this, but I wonder:  Was she better able to deal with life's complications, or was she just a better actress?  Am  I weak, or just a poor actress?  I don't know.

Any time I cry, my son always gets very concerned.  "Are you okay?" he always asks.  "I'm fine. Don't worry."  My response.  Even if I have to stop mid-breakdown and take a couple of deep breaths, so my voice sounds "okay".  Tears are streaming down my face, yet I can fake a cheerful voice and say "Don't worry.  I'm okay--just a little stressed."

My heart is destroyed, my soul is hemorrhaging, my spirit is broken and fleeing the scene.... but

 "I'm okay."

Homeschool Sex Education

As a homeschool mom, I deal daily with fear--fear that I'm not doing enough, or doing things right, or doing too much, or doing the wrong things....when a child goes to public school, it's the school district's fault if the child gets messed up.  As a homeschooling mom, I can ruin his life all by myself!

One topic that has been tricky in our home has been sex education.  I feel very comfortable talking about sex, but my 14-yr old son DOESN'T.  I will occasionally try to take advantage of "teaching moments" (usually during a Family Guy episode) but my son does not want to hear any of my wisdom.  So  I've resorted to less traditional ways of getting the message out there.  Thus, the following post--sex ed curriculum for today.

Sex explained through BIC pens

So what do you think?  I think I'm the coolest mom in the world.....or the most disturbed.  Should I start a PayPal account for people to chip in $$$ for my son's future therapy needs? 

Panic, Poop, and Promise

I have a friend who posts humorous, wacky, outlandish, and just plain weird stuff on Facebook.  A knitting pattern for dog poop. Links to innumerable toilet related videos. Reading her posts is an exhilarating ride through her amazing mind.


A day or so ago she posted a YouTube video, and though I don't usually watch the videos people post(my YouTube subscription list is so long I don't have time for any more!) one of her friend's replies intrigued me.  "Silly Monkey" was the reply.  Huh?  *click*

. 

I actually enjoyed this man's video a lot.  I, too, have struggled with panic attacks, and the usual angst that is common to humanity.  I loved the way he reduced all human emotion to "silly monkeys", and I believe I'll remember his thoughts about fighting the monkeys, or playing with the monkeys.  I was trying to hang with my monkeys, and one threw poop at me.  Maybe I need to take notes the next time I watch the video.

I'm not sure where this post is going....I'm like a gerbil with ADD that was given access to a computer.  I guess I'm thinking a lot about emotional health and psychological stability.  I've run the gamut in my life....I spent a month on my couch in my early adulthood--I was too scared to sleep in my bedroom.  I needed to be by the front door so I could hear if someone broke in.  I was also terrified that someone had sneaked into my house and was hiding somewhere.  I had a route worked out, where I checked the whole house--going in a very specific pattern so the criminal that was going to kill me wouldn't be able to sneak in without my knowledge while I was in another part of the house.  I didn't sleep....I just laid on the couch watching old TV comedies, eating junk food, crying, and being terrified.

I've struggled with depression.  I've been treated with prescription drugs, some that were very detrimental to me, and some that were almost miraculous, IMO.  Depression is so hard, because it becomes this vicious cycle....you feel depressed, so you sleep and/or eat, then you get more depressed...it's vital to break this cycle, but it's like trying to break a concrete wall using only a wet feather.

Let's talk a bit about anxiety.  I grew up in the 60's and 70's and parents just weren't aware that children that appeared fairly normal could have psychological difficulties.  Looking back, I now realize I suffered from extreme anxiety disorder through my entire childhood and youth.  A few examples--I found a little book that I had made in second grade, and it's title was "Poison".  It was about 20 pages of pictures of things that would hurt or kill you if you touched them, or accidentally drank them.  Cleaning products, bug spray, paint, gasoline, normal items.....and perfume, lipstick, and other random things a child shouldn't have been scared of.  And why did I make this little booklet anyway?  In kindergarten, I was terrified someone was going to grab me in their car and take me and kill me.  I only lived 2 blocks from school, but I was absolutely paralyzed with fear.

Then anxiety often eventually leads to panic attacks, which started visiting me in my late teens.  Again, I had no idea what was going on, and as far as I was concerned everyone felt like I did.  Although there was one incident that began my realization that all was not as it should be.  When I was 15 my dad built an addition on to our house, and one of the rooms was my new bedroom.  I could design the whole room--where the windows were, where the closet was (and how big), and then I got to decorate the room any way I wanted.  The main thing I was concerned with was the windows.  I wanted the windows high up on the wall (about 12" below the ceiling).  The windows were rectangular windows that were wide but short.  And why did I choose those windows?  So nobody could shoot me through them.

I've been in places emotionally where I felt fabulous. Meditation, exercise, journaling, really paying attention to what is going on inside me makes such a huge difference.  I love reading self-help books, and I see myself as a fixer-upper.  I'm like the wonderful old Victorian house that is amazing, but the insides are a mess, there's no plumbing, no closets, it needs a new kitchen, and there may or may not be bats in the attic.  I'm my own favorite project, that is until I get to the point where I'm frustrated and want to just sell myself.

But I always come back, hammer, book, and paintbrush (or makeup brushes) in hand, ready to fix up another corner.  I'm sure this is a lifelong project, but I believe the project is worthwhile, and the end result could be breathtaking.